


forever and a lifetime

by theswangirl



Series: forever and a lifetime 'verse [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Charming Family Feels, Emma and Jefferson are bros, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Pre-Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan, Young Emma, daddy!charming is my fave
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-01-25 13:40:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1650620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theswangirl/pseuds/theswangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>("I'll wait forever and a lifetime to find I'm not alone...) At sixteen, Emma Swan is on her way to Storybrooke, Maine following a seemingly random foster placement. However, nothing is what it seems, except for the fact that it looks like the Dark Curse will be undone a decade or so earlier than intended. AU, teen!Emma, Charming family feels (eventually).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Swan Girl

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write this for a while now, and though I haven't seen the third season of OuaT yet (I know...) I'm going to do it anyway. There will be angst, talk of child abuse, and, of course, Charming family feels. And, I think, lots of daddy!Charming, because as much as a love mommy!Snow, we don't get enough of the former.

In front of the window of a small, dim bedroom in a house in Detroit, Emma Swan sat in her pajamas, a bowl of cocoa puffs sitting her lap, and a book tucked into the seat next to her, a page dog-eared somewhat resentfully by its current owner.

She _had_ been reading – or at least attempting to. Shakespeare wasn't her cup of tea, thank you very much, but Hamlet was required reading for sophomores, and she'd hate to stir up trouble by declaring a revolution at this stage: the last thing she needed was another reason for the Fairchilds to resent her. Her newest foster family of a month and a half were a surprisingly stodgy bunch for people who lived in _Detroit_ of all places. Emma had already managed to irritate them with her late night habits, such as eating sugary cereals, and her somewhat reclusive, backtalk-y nature (those were exactly Marion Fairchild's words, too, though Emma considered 'private' and 'witty' more suitable adjectives). Emma was there with two others; Sam, the little golden boy, and Glory, who was only two years older than Emma at seventeen, and far more rebellious than Emma had ever been, which was saying something.

She still wasn't entirely sure why the Fairchilds had taken in another child (she couldn't imagine it was simply to have one more person to disapprove of) but Emma had learned not to look too deeply into things if everything was going alright. She had a bedroom to herself, hot meals, and to be perfectly honest, if compared to some of the other families she'd lived with, the Fairchilds positively spoiled the kids in their care.

It was nearing ten o'clock, so Emma hurriedly drank down the rest of her chocolatey cereal, leaving the bowl on the desk, and cracking her neck as she stood up from her chair and closed the curtains. The house was quiet, but everyone around here went to bed early – like, nine o'clock early. Emma wasn't an early bird by any stretch of the imagination, but she forced herself to switch the lights off and slide under the covers anyway, shifting to her side to stare at the window aimlessly.

Things were okay. Good, even. This was probably the best she'd had since six or seven years old, even. That was ten years full of less than good before she had finally now caught something like a break. Sighing, Emma rolled onto her back. The sight of peeling paint greeted her from the ceiling.

No matter how hard she tried, for as long as she could remember Emma was never able to shake the feeling of emptiness. It was akin to loneliness, but it went deeper than that: it was right down to her bones, reminding her every day that she hadn't been wanted, that she'd been dumped by the wayside – literally – in a blanket with a name stitched onto it, and shoved into an endless shuffle of houses and faces and bad, _bad_ experiences. The good would light her up sometimes; some people went out of their way to befriend her, to share some happiness with her, and Emma would eagerly accept, indulging the part of her that wanted to experience those silly things that kids or teenagers did, but it always faded away, leaving her with a backpack, a different bedroom, and a lump in her throat at the end of it.

It was mostly hard, and rarely fun. The anger towards her faceless, nameless birth parents was there, but it was far overpowered by the hurt – Emma had long since accepted that no matter how old she got, there would be a corner of her heart that was a little blond girl wondering _why_ she didn't have two parents and goodnight kisses and hot chocolate on snow days.

But if she wondered that consciously, every day, she'd drive herself insane.

Yawning, Emma shut her eyes. Things were good, and she would smile.

 

* * *

 

 

The bell signaling the end of the school day rang out shrilly, and eleven elementary school students stood up quickly, shoving books and coloring pages into backpacks, talking animatedly amongst one another.

Mary Margaret Blanchard leaned against her desk, surveying her classroom with a smile. ''Remember, guys – I want you to start thinking about your poems. Think of something that makes you happy, and just immerse yourself in the writing.''

A few of the kids nodded, and waved their goodbyes, loud voices carrying into the hall where the rest of the school was getting ready to leave. The door closed behind little Paige, who called out a happy “see you Monday, Miss Blanchard!'' at Mary Margaret, who was stacking a thin pile of papers into a folder to take home and grade.

A small smile played at her lips as she skimmed over the top essay – the topic had been favorite pets, and her kids' essays were almost always a treat to read – before tucking the folder into her purse, and shrugging her sweater on. The weather outside was mild, as was always the case in Storybrooke, so she hadn't bothered with a coat.

Locking the door behind her, Mary Margaret set off through the now nearly empty halls of the school, emerging into the tepid air outside and taking off a leisurely pace towards her apartment, only a ten minute walk away, as was almost everything in Storybrooke.

She couldn't really say what had drawn her to this town; a combination of circumstance and old habits, she supposed. Hazy memories floated to her of summers spent in a small town, and...well, how did the saying go? 'You could take the girl out of the small town but you can't take the small town out of the girl'? Yes, that was it. Cliché, but it brought a smile to her lips nonetheless.

Yes, life in Storybrooke was pleasant enough. The people were friendly, with a few exceptions, and Mary Margaret had her routine, which carried her through life easily enough. She woke every morning, stopped into Granny's for her now well-known order of hot chocolate (with cinnamon, always cinnamon), taught her beloved class at the school, and left the school at three each day, waving hello to a few faces on her walk, before arriving home and cooking dinner for one, and retiring to bed early.

Not the most exciting, she supposed, but it was nice. Quiet, predictable, and safe. All things Mary Margaret valued in life. There was little doubt that Storybrooke was where she was meant to be, at least for now, and that was the thought that comforted her whenever the wanderlust hit her out of nowhere, a strange longing for something she couldn't quite put her finger on, as if she were wishing for somewhere she had been long ago.

Regardless, it was where she was, and as she unlocked the door the apartment, Mary Margaret trained her thoughts to more everyday topics – there was chicken in the freezer, but should she cook it, or splurge for a pizza...

 

* * *

 

 

**_Seven and a half months later_ **

"Emma? You all packed?''

A tint of disbelief colored the woman's tone, for which Emma couldn't entirely fault her – one backpack full of crap wasn't exactly the sight most people expected whenever she turned up, but Emma had never been one for trinkets. Few things were sacred to her and they were in the backpack. Extra things she'd learned to let go of early – jewelry had never been given to her, toys weren't especially sentimental, and clothes required money, which was something Emma rarely had, and so every outfit she owned fit easily into the worn bag, along with basic toiletries, a tube of mascara, and the old, somewhat gross looking baby blanket she'd had since she had first come into existence; the one she had been found in, laying on the cold, damp side of a highway all those years ago. Talk about sentimental value.

''Yeah, I'm good.'' Backpack slung over her shoulder, and outfit combination number four being worn – faded jeans and an old INXS t-shirt, paired with the only pair of boots she owned – Emma smiled at the caseworker- Amanda- who offered a tentative grin back and opened the backseat door of the van.

Another school year, another house – at least she'd spent the entirety of sophomore year in one place, which was a rare treat. She'd even made a couple of friends, though they had, as almost always happened, fallen out of touch sometime around February – finals week, away games, and Emma's own distance nature having had a hand in the fading of friendship.

She did wish she could know where she was headed to next. Hopefully it would be better than inner city Detroit, anyway. Suburbs could be nice, condos as well. Maybe she would go further south, where it was warmer. In her experience, they always managed to keep her on the same side of the country, if not the same state, as though that somehow made up for being shoved around like a meal ticket, which happened far too many times for Emma to count.

And then there were the group homes. God, how she hated the group homes. Loud, strange smelling, and headed by stressed out and generally regretful foster parents, who clearly had no idea what they were in for by taking in a half dozen troubled children of varying ages.

Amanda didn't try to make small talk, for which Emma was grateful. Small talk had never been her thing, and she was far from in the mood to try. Instead, she just stared out at the passing scenery, dismal Detroit growing more and more distant as the minutes passed. They were driving down to Chicago, where she'd been evaluated and shipped off somewhere else. If only she knew where somewhere else was.

''Emma, how do you feel about Maine?''

A pause. It was the first thing either had said since entering the car twenty minutes ago. Emma blinked slowly. ''I...don't. I mean, I guess it's fine.''

''Good.'' Amanda the caseworker's eyes flicked briefly to the rearview mirror, and Emma could see the wheels turning. ''Good.''

Hm. Emma could deal with Maine – anything but Detroit, anyway. The city was grating on her.

_Storybrooke_

It was rare that anyone ever came in to the pawnshop – so rare, in fact, that it was a mystery why the place was still in business at all.

But that was Storybrooke – so many questions, and even more vague, murky explanations.

'' _Well, all the paperwork is in order, Mr. Gold. Emma's in Detroit at the moment, I'm just on my way to pick her up – we're going to fly over from Chicago. We'll most likely arrive tomorrow afternoon sometime.''_

''That's wonderful news, Miss Hayes. Everything's in order at this end as well – Emma's room is ready and waiting for her, as am I.''

_''That's perfect, Mr. Gold. I'll call you when our plane lands in Boston.''_

''Alright, dear. Speak to you soon.''

He ended the call with a beep and inhaled deeply, exhaling the breath loudly in the silence of the shop before smiling widely.

Mr. Gold was having an excellent day. For one, the weather had shifted.

He wasn't one to mindlessly blot out and ignore the repetitive nature of life in Storybrooke; on the contrary, he was perfectly aware of it. More so now that the Swan girl was on her way to the town. Mr. Gold had always remembered life beyond Storybrooke, having tucked memories deep into the back corners of his mind, almost impossible be to wiped or tampered with by anything, even a curse as dark as the one holding the entire town in Maine. But her name – Emma's – had broken a dam. Where once there had been blank spots, or dulled, blurry scraps of recollection, Rumplestilskin remembered it all.

He could only assume that the Mayor knew nothing of his recent awakening. If she did, she would have kicked the door in and rained hell down around them – Regina had always been one for the grand and scary.

But much to his delight, he had something over her – something she had no idea of, yet. Mr. Gold was opening his home to miscreant teenager Emma Swan, who had bounced around the foster system for years now. He was giving her a stable home and a town full of friendly people to interact with.

Including her actual parents, and all the people who were, essentially, a part of her would-be kingdom.

And Regina couldn't do a _thing_ about it, that was the best part. As long as Mr. Gold stayed Mr. Gold, no one need know anything for just a little while longer. Emma could settle herself, he could introduce the idea of magic into her life, and then she'd break the curse, reunite with her parents, and he would be free to find Bae, wherever he was.

All while making the Evil Queen angrier and more powerless than ever. It was, truly, a win-win for both Gold and, though she did not know it yet, Emma.

The kettle on the stove whistled, and Gold smirked as he poured hot water into a cup of Earl Grey, and promptly dunked a biscuit into the liquid, munching on it thoughtfully. Things were already in motion. The clearing of the omnipresent Storybrooke clouds and cold outside was testament to that. Another few days and it might even get hot enough for a thunderstorm.

 

* * *

 

 

''Storybrooke?''

The skepticism must have echoed clearly through the single word, for Amanda pursed her lips and nodded. ''It's quite cute, actually. I only saw a few pictures that Mr. Gold – that's who you'll be staying with – sent me. It's by the coast, and _very_ picturesque.''

''Picturesque?'' Emma sighed, shaking her head. ''Does it have an airport?''

''No.''

''Train?''

''No.''

'' _Bus system?''_

''...possibly.''

The plane gave a shudder as it gained altitude, and Emma directed her attention back to the crossword puzzle in her lap – a gift from Amanda at a small airport gift shop. The flight to Boston was only two and a half hours but Emma had the feeling that the quieter she was during that time, the better of a mood Amanda would be in.

The mysterious Mr. Gold had apparently given concise directions to his rather remote mansion – only a short walk out of town, Amanda had relayed to Emma – and was to be waiting up for them when they arrived late that night. It wasn't the first time that Emma had lived with no other children, but it was the first time that only one person had wanted to take her in – usually it was couples looking to fill a void or do something good for the world. This Mr. Gold appeared to have no ulterior motives, and no reason for needing a mere meal ticket: he was rich, owned a small antique store in an even smaller town, and simply wanted to open a bedroom to a teenaged girl with nowhere else to go. That kind of charity was rare, in Emma's experience, and she couldn't help but wonder just why he was doing it.

It was entirely possible that Emma would be horrified by the small town. The only experience she had with them was via movies and television shows, never real life, and she couldn't imagine successfully flying very far under the radar in a town with less than a thousand people, whose local rich guy had just basically adopted her.

Though life hadn't exactly thrown her a lot of good, there was still a tiny part of Emma that was holding out hope – maybe this one would be it. Maybe she'd be able to stay for two years, happy, until her eighteenth birthday. Maybe she would never have to leave for another room, or another state, again. It was a nice thought.

Emma closed her eyes, the plane's engine lulling her into a doze, and allowed herself to imagine what it would feel like to truly _live_ somewhere.

 

They landed in Boston amidst a rather intense thunderstorm, and Emma was still jittery, even nearly an hour and a half after collecting her backpack, which was currently seated next to her in the backseat of a rented car.

Amanda hummed softly to the oldies station playing, and Emma stared out at the rainy, dismal scenery that made up the forest of Maine. They were long since out of Boston and each town they passed through seemed to get smaller and smaller, until the only things they were passing were random houses and more trees than Emma had ever seen in her life.

''How long of a drive is it?''

''Five hours,'' was the clipped reply, and Emma hunkered down in her seat, sighing. Four and half more to go. Storybrooke had better have _something_ for her.

 

* * *

**_Storybrooke_ **

''He's still out, Miss Blanchard.''

''Thank you, doctor Whale.''

Mary Margaret didn't come to the hospital weekly. It was all very sporadic – the need for volunteers increased and decreased with time, but as they entered into June, Whale had put the word out again, and of course Mary Margaret was first on the list of willing helpers.

Although volunteering gave her a good sense of accomplishment, especially doing so in a place where so much darkness was held, she would be lying if she said there weren't ulterior motives.

Or motive, rather. One motive, lying prone in the bed as he had been for as long as anyone could remember. The John Doe of Storybrooke, pale and wan, but still handsome, hooked up to machines whose rhythms never faltered, as his heart rate never wavered, nor his brain activity.

John Doe was in a coma. A deep, deep coma, from which it seemed nothing would wake him. As far as Mary Margaret knew, no one came to visit him, and so she couldn't imagine why Whale hadn't made the executive decision and pulled the plug, so to speak, but she was glad he hadn't, for reasons she could not quite pinpoint.

Each time she was at the hospital, without fail, she was in his room for at least half an hour, sitting in the chair she pulled up by the bed, and reading something of a bedtime story to him. John Doe never responded, but it hadn't yet stopped her from coming in. Her literature of choice varied – sometimes it was some old Russian tome, others it was simply Austen or Bronte, or even poetry. It all depended on her mood. This was a Bronte kind of day. Jane Eyre had sat on her bookshelf for months, untouched, until earlier that afternoon when she had tucked it into her bag on a whim just before her departure for the hospital.

''I used to love this book, I think,'' Mary Margaret spoke quietly, tracing a finger over the cover as she pulled a chair near the bed and sat down. ''When I was younger...middle school, maybe.''

The only sounds came from the deep breathing of the man in the bed and the occasional soft beep of machines.

And so Mary Margaret read. It was a quarter to ten when Dr. Whale poked his head into the room, informing her that visiting hours were over and she had to wrap it up in five minutes – strictly, visiting hours had been over since nine, but Whale had a soft spot for her. Or, at least, her figure. With Whale it was hard to tell.

''I'll come back soon,'' she promised the man in the bed, neatly bookmarking the page she was on and tucking the book back into her bag. ''A few weeks, maybe. I wonder if you can hear me at all...''

Sighing, Mary Margaret reached out to brush the top of his cool hand, and was just about to turn around and scoot the chair back to the corner when she distinctly felt the man's hand shift, moving so that his hand was loosely covering hers.

_''I will always find you, Snow.''_

The image of a man dressed in medieval clothing flashed across her mind, and Mary Margaret felt her stomach lurch a little – _Snow._ The man's face had been blurred, but he was _so familiar..._

''Oh my – Dr. Whale!''

She hadn't meant to shriek quite so loudly, but her heart was pounding, and her eyes scanning the face of the man, who hadn't moved anything else, though his hand still rested on top of hers.

''He – he moved,'' she said aloud, testing the words out. This man, who had been lying here for _years_ , probably before even Mary Margaret had moved here – god, how long ago had _that_ been? - had just moved his entire hand.

''Mary Margaret?!''

Whale came through the door and skidded to a halt, eyes wide. ''I heard you scream,'' he said warily, clearly confused as to why there was no apparent life threatening occurring within the small room.

''Doctor, he moved his hand.''

A moment's pause filled the room. Whale arched a brow. ''Mary Margaret, this man is comatose.''

''I know it sounds insane,'' she hastened to assure him, shaking her head and looking back down at the bed, ''but I swear – look, his hand's over mine. I touched his hand and he _moved_ .''

Whale made a small humming sound, and began looking over the various screens. Mary Margaret bit her lip, gently twitching her hand, and feeling her heart sink when she moved it from beneath the man's, and nothing happened.

''Sorry, Mary Margaret,'' Whale said, sounding almost truly apologetic, ''but there's nothing here.''

''That's okay. It was probably just me – I'm a bit tired, I should go home.''

''Yes,'' Whale agreed, turning off the overhead light and opening the door to the room, ''get some rest. We'll see you in a couple weeks.''

Shouldering her bag, Mary Margaret followed him from the room, glancing back only once as she crossed through the doorway. The room was dimly lit now, and the man still rested peacefully against the pillows.

Just a trick of the mind, she supposed. Who 'Snow' was, and why the name sounded so...right, Mary Margaret didn't know, but the man's blurred face haunted her the entire way home, and in her strange, nonsensical dreams all night.

 


	2. The First Day (of the rest of your life)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma, meet Mr. Gold. And welcome to Storybrooke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I DID IT. I UPDATED. I swear I will finish this story, and I am so sorry to have left you hanging.

The home that Mr. Gold had been (for lack of a better word) given sixteen years ago was large. Far too large for one man, just as Rumplestilskin's castle had been. But he was rather glad that it was so enormous, for he was able to pick a bedroom at random and designate it as Emma Swan's. It was one the second floor, down a few doors, just private enough to make her feel comfortable but not so far away as to make him have to climb a million flights of stairs to get to her, if need be.

On the particular evening that Emma was to arrive – her caseworker in tow – Rumplestilskin was as close to nervous as the Dark One was capable of being. The last adolescent he'd ever been anything resembling 'nurturing' towards was Baelfire, what seemed like an eternity ago. Hell, it _was_ an eternity ago.

Now he was faced with a girl – a teenaged one, no less. If her parents were anything to go by, Swan would be a spirited one. Powerful, too; a product of true love, the purest of magics. He'd assess that later, however, _after_ she'd settled and he'd gained a modicum of her trust. A difficult feat, most likely, made so by the horrors she'd endured whilst in the foster system. Rumplestilskin wasn't a good man by any stretch of the imagination, but there were some lines even _he_ wouldn't cross, and most of them were contained within Emma's personal file.

Regardless of the girl's past, they were both going to have to focus on the future. Finding his son and leaving this miserable, magic-less realm was high on his list of priorities, and he harbored no qualms about using a sixteen year old child to gain what he wanted – mostly because his interested directly coincided with someone else's for the first time in a while, and Swan would gain her happy ending as much as he was.

The kettle was on, keeping the water for tea gently warming, while three cups sat waiting on the counter. If there was one thing Gold was good at, it was tea. The liquid stuff simply seemed to assist in any situation, and he doubted this would be the exception.

At nearly ten o'clock in Storybrooke there wasn't exactly a lot of traffic, let alone on the remote little road Gold's home resided on. And so when headlights gleamed through the darkness outside, flashing across the windows and casting strange shadows across the rooms, Gold knew it was time. Taking a breath, he stood from his seat at the large kitchen table, wincing as his knee throbbed, and straightened his jacket as the car door slammed from outside.

 

* * *

 

Were Emma less on edge, she might have fallen asleep on the car ride through the seemingly endless forest. Once the remote houses and occasional rest stops ended, there was nothing but dark, winding road bordered by tall and imposing trees. With the rain pouring down on them it was the very definition of a 'dark and stormy night', made even more so by the old fashioned looking sign that seemed to come out of nowhere alongside the road.

 _Welcome to Storybrooke,_ it read, in a large, swirling font, and Emma sat up straighter, pressing her face against the window in order to see more clearly.

''I think we're here,'' Amanda said from the driver's seat, slowing down as they passed a few houses.

Town came upon them very suddenly – where there had been nothing but trees and darkness just seconds ago, there was suddenly a stoplight, blinking in the darkness, and they were turning onto a long street. Main street, by the looks of it – some shops had lighted windows, mannequins resting in the display, others had porchlights illuminating the doorways and signs. A repair garage, a diner, a bakery...all of it normal, all vacant. The clock tower they passed had stopped working: its hands displayed eight fifteen, whereas Emma knew it was well past ten.

The buildings dwindled as quickly as they had began appearing, and Amanda signaled for a left turn into a secluded driveway. The house at the end of it was lit, porch lights and inside lights, and a single car was parked outside of it.

''We're here.''

The car engine turned off, and the rain splashing to the roof was much more audible. Amanda opened her car door, wincing as the downpour immediately began to soak through her blouse.

Emma grabbed her backpack and slide across the seat, opening the door and rolling her neck around as she stepped from the car, staring with mild trepidation up at the house – it had to be three stories, plus an attic, even. So large for someone without a family.

Amanda was making a mad dash for the shelter of the porch, and Emma followed, stomach churning as she saw the front door begin to open, and a man step onto the porch, shaking Amanda's offered hand with the only one of his not holding a cane.

''Yes, we found it perfectly,'' Amanda was saying, ''it looks very nice.''

''It's quite lovely, when we aren't subjected to this downpour,'' Mr. Gold said easily, shifting his eyes away from Amanda's as Emma stepped up onto the porch. ''You must be Emma. Please, come inside, both of you. It's far too cold out here.''

He retreated, and they followed, Emma keeping her hands safely tucked in her pockets as she traipsed in. The entryway was no less impressive than the rest of the house – it was large, roomy, and open, a table with a vase of flowers to one side, and a set of coat-hooks along the opposite wall.

''I have some tea on,'' Gold announced, leading them towards a stairway with his limping gait, ''but I'll show you to your room first. I'm sure you're tired.''

''A little,'' Emma offered, ''thanks.''

Second floor, a few doors down. The door was already open and Emma stepped into the room, blinking as the overhead light was flicked on. The sight of a queen sized bed, plus a desk, closet, bookshelf, and window seat greeted her, and she was momentarily shocked – the only time she'd ever occupied a room this big was with another girl, and they had had twin beds. This was...

''It's very nice,'' Emma said, sliding her backpack off of her shoulder and turning around slowly, taking it all in. ''Roomy.''

''I do hope you find it comfortable. You can choose a difference comforter, if you like – the green seemed a safe choice for the time being.''

Indeed it was – a rich, almost forest green duvet adorned the bed, which had at least four pillows piled upon it.

For once in her life, Emma was lost for words. It was a rare occasion indeed when she couldn't come up with something, however awkward or deprecating, to say, but it was the sheer fact that she had a _bedroom_ in a home in a harmless town, a room that had clearly been waiting for her, planned for her, that was overwhelming, to say the least.

''You're tired, I'm sure,'' Gold continued, and Emma turned back to face the doorway. ''we'll just let you settle in. There's tea downstairs, you can bring it up here if you'd prefer.''

''No, I'll – I'll come down. I'm just gonna take a minute...'' A minute to what? Emma didn't know. But Gold nodded, apparently satisfied, and withdrew from the room, pulling Amanda with him and engaging her in a conversation that faded as they descended the stairs.

Emma exhaled the breath she'd been holding for what seemed like forever, and moved to take a seat on the bed. It was soft, and the comforter was as plushy and thick as it looked. She spread her hands over the soft satiny fabric and felt an incredible fatigue wash over her, despite the fact that she'd been seated in a car for over four hours.

Gold had said there was tea downstairs. Emma had to bid Amanda goodbye anyway, so there wasn't a real chance for her to just curl up in bed right then and sleep for a good ten hours or so. Heaving herself up again, she shrugged her coat off, leaving it on the end of the bed before opening the bedroom door again tentatively. The smell of herbal tea wafted up, and voices could be heard from what Emma assumed to be the living room that she'd passed so briefly on her way up.

Now or never. She began to descend the stairs carefully, taking in the house around her. It wasn't as heavily decorated as one might expect an older house to be; there were a couple of paintings placed along the walls, but no family photos. The wallpaper was tasteful and lush, and a neat pad of paper was placed next to a phone that sat on a table beside the stairs. The carpet was clean, the lighting warm and inviting, and there seriously appeared to be nothing wrong with the place, unless there were bodies hiding in the basement or in the walls or something. Emma snorted at her own train of thought, shaking her head as she reached the bottom of the stairs.

''You have my number – both of them. This one is my cell, the other's the office. If you have any trouble, or questions, all you have to do is call.''

As if Emma was a problem kid, or something – it wasn't like she was going to set fire to the guy's curtains or something.

''Miss Swan seems like a lovely girl. I think we'll get on quite well.''

Gold sounded as though he had a lot of experience in reassuring people, the smooth talker. Though it was nice to hear that she had made a good enough impression, at least.

The grandfather clock propped against a wall was just a few minutes shy of chiming on the hour, and Emma stifled a yawn with her arm.

''Well, I should head out.''

''Are you certain you don't want to stay for the night? There's plenty of room.''

''Oh, no, I couldn't do that. I have to be in DC by noon tomorrow, so it's going to be a long trip. I'd better start now.''

''At least let me brew you some coffee – wouldn't want you drifting across lanes from exhaustion, eh?''

They shared a small chuckle as Emma entered the room. Amanda was standing, and Gold was turning the corner into the kitchen.

''Now, Emma,'' Amanda began as the clattering of cups and movement in the kitchen ensued, ''I want you to be happy. Do you like it here?''

Did she like it here? Small town USA was never Emma's forte. But this Mr. Gold was a little weird, and Emma found herself drawn to him...and would could two years hurt, anyway? Unless he turned out to be a serial murderer or women hater of some kind.

''Yeah, I think it's nice.''

Amanda smiled. ''You'll make friends soon, too. School starts for you on Monday. I've told Mr. Gold how independent you are, and while I'm sure you'll talk about rules very soon, he seems like a very accommodating man.''

Er, good? Maybe? Emma nodded for lack of any other response. Amanda patted her shoulder.

''You'll do fine here.''

''Here you are, dearie.'' Gold entered the room once again, holding a small Styrofoam cup of steaming liquid. ''you're sure you don't want a room?''

''Oh, no,'' Amanda said, sipping at the coffee with a small sigh. ''I've really got to be going. Mr Gold, thank you.''

''No, thank _you_ , dear.'' Clasping her hand in both of his, Gold smiled. ''This house is far too big for just one.''

''I'm sure you'll both enjoy it. I'll speak to you in two weeks, Emma.'' Kissing her cheek – pretty unexpectedly, too, Emma hadn't seen that one coming -, Amanda shrugged her coat on and picked up her coffee. ''Goodnight, you two.''

Emma and Gold's goodbyes mingled together as Amanda gave them one last little wave before stepping out into the pouring rain, and closing the door behind her.

''Are you hungry, Miss Swan?''

Shaking her head, Emma watched Amanda's headlights disappear out onto the road. ''No, thank you. I'm a little tired, actually.''

''Oh, yes, of course. By all means, get some rest. The drive was long, and I'm sure you've had quite the day. I'm afraid I'm not much of a cook, so how would you like breakfast in town tomorrow?''

''That's fine,'' Emma replied, sticking her hands in her pockets. ''I'm not much of a cook either, actually.''

''I can boil water, but I believe that to be the extent of my abilities in the kitchen,'' Gold said with a wry smile.

Emma snorted. ''Yeah, I hear you.''

''Granny's is usually the place to be here. Let's say, around nine?''

''Sounds good, Mr. Gold.''

''Sleep well then, Emma.''

Smiling and waving at him goodnight, Emma turned and ascended the stairs again, slumping briefly against her bedroom door as she closed it behind her.

What a day. Emma's exhaustion grew the longer she stood, until she was practically falling into bed after brushing her teeth and turning the overhead light off. Yawning, she curled up on her side, facing the bookshelf on the wall. It was almost bare, as she'd thought upon first glance, but six books rested on it – most looked as if they were merely resting there as a result of Mr. Gold running out of room on another bookshelf, although one in particular looked out of place among the other thick, dark colored tomes: Emma squinted in the dim light to see the spine of the book, and she could just barely make out the glittering letters: _Once Upon a Time_.

Huh. She hadn't pegged Gold as the fairytale type.

Flopping over onto her back, Emma felt sleep taking her, and any thoughts of the book were forgotten as she slipped into dreamless slumber.

 

* * *

 

 

**_Storybrooke General, the following morning  
_ **

 

The moment that Dr. Whale entered the hospital - at around six Thursday morning – he knew it was just going to be one of those days.

Granny's coffee maker was on the fritz. Whale could not think of a single time, ever, when that had happened, and he'd lived in Storybrooke for...well. A long time. He was a regular customer at the diner, needless to say, and even Ruby's normally ever-present smirk was gone as she broke away from an irate looking man at the counter to tell him that there would not be any coffee, and yes, she was sure, and also sorry.

What was Whale going to do? Pitch a fit? He merely nodded, before any opportunity he might have had to say anything was taken by the growly voice of the angry counter guy. Leroy, Whale thought his name was – a miner, or construction worker, or something. Regardless, Whale had had to resort to the hospital cafeteria sludge in place of his regular cup of coffee, and was already feeling the headache building.

''Morning, Jaina,'' he greeted the new nurse, offering her a wink as he passed her station. ''How are - ''

From where he'd clipped it on his waist, his pager began beeping unexpectedly at an inhuman pitch, causing him to slosh hot coffee down his hand in alarm, narrowly missing his white coat. ''Damn it,'' he snarled, groping blindly for the stupid thing with the hand that wasn't being burnt by hot liquid. It took a good five seconds to locate it and hit the button that made the beeping stop, but that wasn't the end of it – oh, no.

'' _Doctor!''_ His head nurse's voice pierced through the tinny speaker, barely pausing for breath as she started up. '' _Doctor Whale, you're needed in the LTC wing, stat – we've got...well, that coma patient. The John Doe. He's awake.''_

Now, Whale had seen a lot during his time in the medical field – a lot of strange, painful, _weird_ shit, but clearly he was losing his touch or something because at the words 'coma patient' and 'awake' he'd nearly spat out what little coffee he hadn't burnt himself with and was already halfway down the corridor, finishing the last of the horrid tar in a few hot, burning gulps before pitching the flimsy cup in a random trash can and thwacking the elevator button as hard as he could.

What a morning. Whale stared at the red patch on his hand where he had spilled his coffee. His only coma patient was awake – awake after, what, fifteen years? Longer? It had been a _long_ time, and the only reason no one had pulled the plug was because of the Mayor. Regina Mills had a will as strong as iron, and Whale knew that while her eyes may have been brimming with tears at the thought of simply letting the John Doe fade away, she'd more than gladly take Whale down more than a few pegs if he dared do it anyway.

And so, John Doe slept, still breathing against all odds, pale as a ghost in room two twenty five. God, Whale was not looking forward to this mess.

The elevator dinged and he stepped off, striding purposefully down the hall and only slowing when the room's door was in sight. Already, voices could be heard from inside, and Whale took a moment to breath, bracing himself, before opening the door.

Honestly, he shouldn't have been surprised to see Regina there. Of course she'd be there. It was only his patient in his hospital, and six o clock in the fucking morning, why _wouldn't_ she be there?

''Good morning, Mayor Mills,'' Whale said, smiling warmly at the woman who appeared to be going toe-to-toe with the nurse, if their equally hateful expressions were anything to go by. ''And hello, Mr. Doe. How are you feeling?''

John Doe was sitting up in bed, looking at the mayor and nurse as though he wasn't entirely sure whether or not he wanted to get in the middle of whatever they were fighting about. Whale couldn't blame him.

''I'm, uh...fine. I guess. I feel good.''

His voice was scratchy, as if he'd only just woken from an eight hour nap rather than a decade plus one.

''Do you know who you are?''

The thing was, Doe had turned up out of nowhere – it couldn't have been too long after Whale himself started working at the hospital. Mayor Mills had found a body at the side of the road on her way into town, and upon further inspection, no one seemed to know what to make of him. No ID, and not a single person in town came forward to claim him, though there had been a spread in the paper for weeks with his photo in it – if anyone did know him, they'd kept quiet about it.

''Doctor, this man is clearly traumatized,'' Regina began before Doe could even open his mouth, ''he hasn't even been awake for an hour and already he's being interrogated!''

Summing his patience, Whale opted for his most placating, soothing voice as he turned towards Regina. ''Mayor, as head physician I am obligated to care for this man, both physically and mentally. I cannot do my job if I don't have some basic information - ''

''I was hoping that I could have a moment with him,'' Regina said, effectively cutting Whale off mid sentence, and offering him a small smile. ''I – well, I suppose I feel a connection to him...all those years ago, we were all so young, and I _was_ the one to find him...''

''My name is David.''

If one were to go by only the expression on Regina Mills' face, they would have assumed someone had just aired a nasty bit of gossip about her, or told her that she smelled less than sweet. However, Doe – David's – four words appeared to be enough to provide much the same reaction as either of the above scenarios might. Whale could have watched Regina's poorly concealed sneers all morning – they provided a mild form of entertainment from time to time- but professionalism called him, and he angled himself towards his patient, grabbing a clipboard from a table near the bed, and arching a brow. ''Just David?''

''Nolan. David Nolan. I'm...I live here. In...''

''Storybrooke?'' Whale supplied, after a few moments of silence passed. ''What's the last thing you remember, Mr. Nolan?''

Brow furrowing, David stared at the bedspread, seemingly lost in thought. ''I - I don't know, I remember the cold, and some kind of _rushing_ noise, like wind, or -''

''The cars on the road,'' Regina inserted helpfully, flicking her eyes between David and Whale. ''I found you, David. On the side of the road, unconscious.''

''Road?'' Frowning, David looked up at Whale. Already his eyes were sharp and alert, and there was something about them that made Whale linger – this man was questioning the Mayor. Somewhere along the line, their stories didn't match up. Whale wondered if David would divulge anything more with Regina in the room, subtly editing his every word as he spoke.

''Yes, David. I brought you straight here, and you haven't woken since. Until now, that is.''

''Mayor Mills,'' Whale cut in, scrawling a few things onto his clipboard before replacing it on the table. ''It's been a...hectic morning for Mr. Nolan. I'm afraid I must ask you to leave so that he can get some rest.''

Regina looked as though she were going to fight it. Honestly, Whale hoped she wouldn't; it was early, and the lack of coffee really was getting to his head.

To his surprise, she merely nodded, and stood, coat slung over her arm. ''I'll stop by again later,'' she promised, leaning down to place a hand on David's shoulder and look into his eyes. ''Get some rest, take it easy.''

David nodded once, and Regina departed with a final soft smile in his direction.

''Nurse, can you get me some applesauce? Oatmeal would be good too, and water, of course.''

As the nurse left, Whale took the opportunity to pull up a seat near the bed, sitting down, and contemplating David quietly. ''So, Mr. Nolan. You don't remember anything other than a rushing noise?''

''Was that...the Mayor?''

Whale nodded. ''Indeed. Our own Mayor Mills. Longest in office that we've ever had anyone. I think she was just starting out around the time you got here.''

''When was that?''

''Oh....ten years, thirteen? Quite some time. You've been asleep for years, David. Do you remember having any family here?''

Slowly, David shook his head. ''I think – I mean, I don't remember them here. I don't really remember _here_ , Storybrooke. It's like a dream.''

The more he spoke, the more troubled David was beginning to look, and so, wisely, Whale stood, pushing the chair back to the corner.

''I know you've been in this bed a while, but I need you to eat, and then rest. Your body hasn't been mobile for far too long, and it's going to take a bit of time for you to recuperate.''

What was it...Thursday? Friday? It had been a little while now since Mary Margaret Blanchard had been by. Not since she'd claimed David's hand had moved, which had to have been at least a week ago. Hm – interesting. Had that been the first sign of movement? A prelude to today? Whale felt a small prick of guilt at his skepticism towards Mary Margaret. He'd have to make it up to her somehow. Maybe now was the time to ask her for dinner at Granny's...

Shaking his head from his thoughts, Whale made for the doorway. ''The nurse will bring you up a tray. I'm going to go pull some files and look into a few things, you just stay here. Eat, doze, think back. I'll be in to check on you later.''

Tucking his pen back into his pocket, Whale offered one last patented reassuring smile to his patient, before leaving in search of the records room. _Nolan, David._ He'd have to see exactly what had been put on that file all those years ago – there was more to David Nolan than met the eye. He remembered more than just what he was saying, Whale could tell. What it was he remembered, however, remained to be seen.

 

* * *

 

 

Regina's heels clicked against the cold, leaf strewn concrete, and her trademark scowl had been affixed to her face for at least five minutes now. That insolent slug, Whale – he was going to poke. And meddle, and ask questions that didn't need to be asked, not now, not after all this time. Sixteen years, and all of the sudden Storybrooke's resident prince wakes up from the nap of his life.

It was all just too strange.

And Regina had sworn she'd seen headlights late last night – too late for anyone in Storybrooke to be driving around. Perhaps it had just been a trick of the light. But it was all too unsettling in conjunction with the morning's events.

Rounding the corner to the main street, Regina contemplated breakfast – it was nearing seven AM, and coffee was sounding better and better by the moment.

And as though leaving the newly awakened Prince Charming alone in the hospital with Whale wasn't a bad enough start to the morning, a loud tolling began, very suddenly, from somewhere above Regina's head.

If she were a lesser citizen she may have panicked. Or, if the morning hadn't been going the way it was, she might have been confused.

But no. Oh, no, Regina Mills wasn't confused. She was cycling somewhere between fury and horror, frozen still on the sidewalk, eyes fixed on the clock tower across the street.

The clock tower whose clock hadn't worked in...well, sixteen years.

The clock tower whose clock had just chimed seven AM.

''Oh, dear,'' Regina murmured, the subtle shaking in her voice belaying the seemingly serene words. Yes, this could be a problem, indeed.

 

* * *

 

A mere few blocks away, Emma Swan woke to the sound of distant but loud chiming, drowsy from where she was buried in a soft bed with a thick duvet covering her. Was it going to be that loud _every_ morning? It chimed for the seventh time, and somewhere in her mind, Emma was vaguely curious. Hadn't that clock been off last night? Oh, god – was she going to oversleep on her first day in a new home? As if on cue, the grandfather clock she'd seen in the hall downstairs chimed seven consecutive times, putting to rest the rapidly building panic in her chest.

Yawning, Emma turned her back to the window, closing her eyes. One more hour, and she was up – it was still far too early for her to think yet.

 

 


	3. Put your hands into the fire...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma and Gold have breakfast, and Prince Charming and Snow White meet (again).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment with prompts/requests for what you'd like to see in 'like a shooting star' (the companion fic to this 'verse)! I need ideas, and I'll accept almost anything! Also, I don't think I mentioned Emma having glasses in previous chapters, but I am now, as she wears them like teen!Emma did in canon. Enjoy!

 

**_8:15AM Thursday, Gold's House_ **

Emma awakened with a jolt, halfway sitting up in her bed as she stared around the room, frowning. The small clock on the table read eight fifteen, and sunlight streamed through the curtains. She couldn't pinpoint exactly why she'd woken, but now that she was awake, she might as well leave the bed, however comfortable it was – if she drifted off again she'd just miss Gold's promise of breakfast in town.

Yawning hugely, Emma shoved the duvet off, all the way down to the foot of the bed, and shivered as cool, early morning air hit her bare legs. God, she hated getting up.

The floor was equally chilly to her bare feet, but the hot shower was a refuge. Emma spent a good twenty minutes there, washing the feeling of long road trip off of her skin, and then just standing under the spray with contentment, a little half smile on her face. Upon stepping out of the shower and wrapping herself in one of the huge, fluffy grey towels that were in the small linen closet, Emma couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so clean and comfortable. Showers in previous years were a hurried affair, hot water a luxury to be conserved, and the other girls she lived with pounding on the bathroom door until the water was shut off. This house was refreshingly quiet, and if Emma were in less of a good mood, she'd say that it was downright eerie.

Wringing out her wet blond locks, Emma piled her hair in a bun on top of her head and dressed quickly in jeans and a comfortable sweater. Once she was out of the bathroom she slid on her glasses, blinking as the world came into better focus, and taking her hair out of its bun. Downstairs she could hear the softest of movements – an adult walking around, as opposed to several small children.

Sliding her boots on and grabbing her jacket, Emma opened the bedroom door and shut it gently behind her, padding downstairs where it smelled of herbal tea and the mustiness of old books – a not entirely unpleasant smell, although Emma wasn't huge on the books.

''Good morning, Emma,'' Gold greeted her as she stepped into the kitchen. ''All ready, I see?''

''Yeah. Your hot water pressure is fantastic.'' Ugh, she could so weird. It seemed to amuse Gold, however, for he let out something between a snort and a chuckle.

''Yes, I enjoy it. Tea?''

''Thanks, but I'm more of a hot cocoa girl.''

''You're in luck, then – Granny makes the best hot cocoa I've ever tasted.''

''Does everyone call her Granny?'' Emma queried as Gold flicked off the burner, and stepping back into the hall as he walked past her to pull his coat from a peg.

''Yes. Don't ask me why, I honestly haven't the fainest.''

Nodding, Emma accepted this. Small town oddities. She could get with it.

''The entire town is walkable from here,'' Gold began, gesturing down the drive, ''you could probably make Granny's in five minutes. However, my leg wouldn't agree to that, so we must take my car.''

''Sure.''

''How did you sleep, anyway? Was your room comfortable?''

''Very,'' Emma answered, with a genuine grin. ''It's really nice.''

They rode the few minutes into town in relative – but surprisingly comfortable – silence. Gold parked across the street from the small diner Emma had seen last night, and they crossed the street, entering the small diner with a jingle of the bell above the door.

A dark haired woman behind the counter glanced up, double taking as Gold stepped in, and then downright staring as Emma followed. In fact, most of the patrons seemed to quiet as they stepped through, and Emma was distinctly aware of the fact that she was being scrutinized – by _everyone_.

''Gold,'' a harsh voice barked out, and a stout, scowly looking old woman nudged the young waitress aside, taking her place at the counter and fixing Gold with a hard look. ''Rent's not due for another week.''

''I know _that_ , Granny,'' Gold said smoothly, a trace of exasperated sarcasm in his words, ''I came to eat. You do still serve breakfast, yes?''

Granny eyed him. ''Who's that?''

Emma resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably as Granny's gaze found her.

''This is Emma, my ward.''

''Your _ward_?''

''She needed somewhere to stay,'' was all Gold said, and though Granny seemed far from satisfied by his answer, she shook her head.

''Well, sit down then. Show's over, folks,'' she called out to the scant number of people who were all still watching the conversation with shameless interest. ''Eat your damn breakfast.''

The waitress from before, after a few hissed words from Granny, came over to their table, looking less than pleased. ''What'll you have?'' She asked, whipping a pad out of the pocket of her astoundingly short red shorts, and raising an eyebrow at Gold.

''Coffee, black. Oatmeal, milk and sugar, please.''

''Sure. And you?''

''French toast and bacon, please. And a hot chocolate? With some cinnamon?''

The waitress – Ruby, her nametag read – looked up, fixing her with a curious gaze. ''That's funny. There's only one other person in this town who takes their cocoa like that.''

Emma smiled slightly. ''And here I thought I was unique.''

At that, Ruby cracked a genuine smile. ''I'll get those right out to you.'' She even let the smile flash over to Gold for an instant before she was sashaying back behind the counter.

''You'll find that there's a _very_ small town mentality here,'' Gold said, smiling wryly. ''It never changes.''

''Why does Granny hate you?''

Gold shifted his gaze from Emma over to Granny, who was clearing plates off a corner table. ''I'm her landlord. I'm almost everybody's landlord, actually. People aren't too pleased to pay rent, and especially not pleased when they have to see me early.''

Ruby breezed by, leaving two steaming mugs on their table. Emma grabbed hers instantly, inhaling the sweet smell of quality chocolate and spicy cinnamon.

''She's right, there is only one other person who likes their cocoa like that.'' Gold sipped at his coffee. ''You'd like her I think.''

''Will I meet her?''

Gold chuckled. ''It's not a terribly large town, dearie. I'd say you'll know her by the end of today.''

 

* * *

 

 

**_5PM, Elementary School_ **

Being in the school after hours was always a little unsettling – or, at least Mary Margaret had thought so for as long as she'd been teaching.

Grading papers at home meant that there would be wine, and probably a movie, and she wouldn't get nearly as much work done as she had originally intended. Staying at the school, however, with nothing but a hot mug of tea and some leftover lasagna was a little less comfortable, and with fewer distractions, so Mary Margaret was able to concentrate all the better for it.

It was nearing five thirty, and she had hoped to get to the hospital before visiting hours ended at eight – it had been at least a week since she'd last stopped by John Doe's room. It had become a ritual of hers, ever since she had learned of the comatose man, all those years ago...it was horribly sad that he was alone there, nameless, and reading to him had always brought her a little bit of comfort, like maybe he was listening somewhere inside, and would feel more inclined to wake up if he knew someone was out there speaking to him.

But that was the mind of a romantic, which Mary Margaret had always been. There were worse things to be, she supposed, taking a sip of cooling tea and writing a smiley face on one of the papers. Two more, and she was done.

Mary Margaret always tried to pick assignments that she would enjoy reading, but even the topics she loved could grow dull, especially if her mind was wandering, and she added a few lines of constructive criticism to the last paper, before stacking it neatly atop the rest with relish. Oh, her back hurt – standing, she winced as blood rushed back into her legs and her spine stretched out into a straight line again from its uncomfortably curved position. Gathering her coat and bag, Mary Margaret deposited the papers in her drawer to be handed out the next day, and picked up her dirty dishes. The overhead lights were off, which only left her desk lamp to be flicked off, and then the classroom door closed and locked behind her. Her boots clicked loudly against the long hallway, stopping briefly as she entered the teacher's lounge to dump her dishes in to the sink before she was on her way again, exiting the school and breathing in a lungful of fresh air, shutting her eyes briefly.

Jane Eyre was in her bag again – it had been good last week, just approaching one of her favorite parts, and she couldn't bear to switch it out for anything new, though she had been reading Doe the same book for weeks in a row.

From the school, which sat a few blocks off of the main street, it was a ten minute walk to the hospital – as were most things in Storybrooke. It was a good town _not_ to own a car in, or at least Mary Margaret thought so. Owning a car was less expensive, too – the only thing she was dreading was the cold of the late autumn and winter. Walking would probably lose most of its charm when she had to wear heavy snowboots everywhere.

Turning onto the main street and avoiding a large puddle of water in the middle of the sidewalk, Mary Margaret began to hum to herself, nodding and smiling at Archie Hopper as they passed each other, and then nearly jumping out of her skin when a large clanging echoed across the street – it was a grand sound, impressive and almost pretty. And, Mary Margaret realized with a sort of puzzled shock, it was coming from above her head. More specifically, from the clock tower across the street, the one that had stopped working long ago, before she'd ever moved here.  
How funny that someone would fix it so suddenly – and she couldn't remember ever seeing anyone work on it. Maybe they'd done it the previous night. It certainly hadn't worked yesterday, nor could she recall hearing it on her way to work or in the classroom that morning, though it would be a miracle if _any_ outside noises made it through the constantly chattering voices of her kids.

Shaking her head, Mary Margaret continued to walk, her heart still a little fluttery from the sheer surprise the sound had brought on. As she passed Granny's, an irate looking Regina Mills was just going in, and she eyed Mary Margaret with such contempt that it could almost be felt burning through her coat. They had never been the best of friends – the Mayor was purely terrifying at times, and thus Mary Margaret tended to avoid her – but blatant hatred wasn't usually Regina's style. It was certainly shaping up to be an odd afternoon. A breeze blew Mary Margaret's scarf around, and the hospital was a welcome sight as she neared it.

 

* * *

 

 

Whale's idea of quiet rest was supplying David with the local paper, and a pencil, and orders to 'read up and finish the crossword', neither of which David particularly wanted to do – he was going stir crazy in his own skin, the room a dull, monotonous _blue_ around him, and the hospital pajamas uncomfortable. He ached for a hot shower and his own clothes – whatever they might be.

David hadn't been _lying_ , per say, when he had said he didn't remember anything. He didn't, not really – nothing that made any sense to him on any level.

He remembered feeling cold wind stinging his cheeks, as if he were stuck inside a whirlwind of some sort. He remembered the damp earth beneath his palms, and feeling dizzy as though he'd been hit over the head. He remembered the cars rushing by on the highway, and the damp drizzle of rain that had been blanketing the forest that day.

What he hadn't said was that he remembered crying – the sound of a baby's impatient squall, and the distinct feel of a warm bundle being pressed into his chest. By whom, he couldn't remember. He caught flashes of dark hair in his memory, and a sweet voice murmuring into his ear: _he said it would be on her sixteenth birthday. What's sixteen years when you have eternal love?_

_I will always find you._

It made no sense, but every word he could remember brought a clench to his chest, one that he couldn't describe other than to say that it felt like he was in pain, like he'd lost something utterly precious, but _he couldn't place it._

Sighing, David scrawled something into thirty four across, head jerking up as someone rapped politely on the door-frame. He'd been expecting Whale, and was fully prepared to wheedle a shower, clean shirt, and bag of takeout from the man when he registered exactly who was standing there, and his heart skipped.

It wasn't Whale, obviously. Her hair was dark and cropped short, her skin pale, and she was biting her lip a little nervously. She had a book bag slung over one shoulder, and a pink scarf wrapped around her neck. ''Er, hello, Mr. Nolan.'' She smiled at him, and David stared like an idiot for a few seconds, before blinking.

''Hi,'' he set the paper down, resiting the urge to rub his eyes. ''Come in.''

''My name is Mary Margaret,'' she said, stepping fully into the room and holding a hand out for him to shake. ''I volunteer here...I've been reading to you for a while now, when you were...''

''Asleep,'' David supplied, when it was clear she was uncomfortable saying 'comatose'. ''Please, pull up a chair.''

She did so, smiling a little wider at him as she sat, resting her bag near her feet. ''I came today to do the same, I usually get around once a week or so, but then Doctor Whale said you'd woken...and I _really_ hope I'm not disturbing you, I'm sure you're disoriented, and I can leave - ''

''No!'' David cut off her rapid words quickly, as her brow had begun to furrow and there was _no way_ David was letting her leave now, not when his heart was fluttering like a teenager and she appeared to be the first truly _wonderful_ human contact he'd had since waking. ''No,'' he repeated, softer. ''Please don't. To be honest, I was getting a little lonely here. Whale hasn't been by in a few hours. Not that he's great company or anything.''

The woman – Mary Margaret – chuckled. ''I'm sure you've been asked this already, but – well – how are you feeling?''

David broke her gaze for a moment, glancing down to his hands that were curled in his lap. ''Well,'' he laughed a little bitterly, ''I remember my name. That's something.''

A smaller, paler hand came into his field of vision, hesitating its movement for a moment before settling on his forearm. ''Don't worry,'' Mary Margaret said soothingly, ''it'll come back.''

He looked back up at her. She looked utterly sympathetic, her eyes sad and full of compassion.

''I hope so,'' he whispered. Clearing his throat after a moment, he cracked a grin. ''For now, I could use a real shower, and maybe a plate of food. Whale let me have pudding earlier, and some tea. I feel like I could eat an entire kitchen.''

Mary Margaret laughed again – it was a beautiful, tinkling sound, like music, and David felt his heart swell.

''Maybe I can talk to him for you,'' she said, glancing over her shoulder as if to make sure Whale wasn't lurking behind her, before leaning in towards David conspiratorially. ''He likes me.''

Of course he does. You're perfect.

''So, Mary Margaret, what do you do?''

''I teach third graders.'' She shrugged, a flush coming to her cheeks. ''Not very glamorous, I'm afraid, but I enjoy it. Most of the time.''

''It sounds very nice.''

To her credit, Mary Margaret didn't ask 'what about you', like she probably wished she could – hell, David even wished she could, but the more he thought about what he _had_ been before appearing in the road all those years ago, the more his head hurt.

''Mr Nolan?''

This time, it really was Whale rapping at the door, looking not at all surprised to see Mary Margaret still there. ''David, I need to check your vitals.''

David nodded, and Mary Margaret stood. ''Well, it was nice meeting you, Mr. Nolan,'' she said with a smile, shouldering her bag again.

''Please, it's David.'' He gazed up at her, half hoping he didn't look as completely swept away as he felt, and part of him hoping that he _did,_ because this woman was clearly amazing, and there was something at the corner of his brain tingling, like he was supposed to know her, but didn't. He didn't think they knew each other, surely she'd have said something, but it didn't shake the feeling of familiarity that filled him as he looked into her face.

''David,'' she tested, reaching out to pat his shoulder. It didn't feel nearly as awkward as Mayor Mills' had. ''I'll stop by soon.''

''Goodbye.''

Whale prodded him and listened to his heart for a good five minutes before pronouncing him fit, and clearing him for a _light_ dinner. No burgers, no grease, no large portions. It was better than nothing, David mused fifteen minutes later, toweling off from the shower and pulling a plain Hanes t-shirt over his head. He wasn't allowed to leave until the next morning, and so a nurse had been sent to pick him up something from one of the local restaurants.

When he arrived back upstairs, it was sitting on his bedside table – a bag containing some freshly sliced strawberries, a carton of yogurt, and a bowl of still warm stew. A Styrofoam cup rested next to the bag, which had a note under it.

Taking a sip from the cup – hot chocolate, interesting – David looked over the note.

_'Get well soon, David – xoxo Granny's'_

Granny's – that was the name of the diner. Had he known one of the girls there?

Shaking his head, David put the note in the empty bag with a small smile, and went about eating his small meal.

 

* * *

 

 

Emma had had french toast before – it was a universal constant that it was almost _always_ good, unless it was soggy. Emma had also eaten good breakfast before, but Granny's was _better_ , and she found herself not only devouring her plate of syrupy, golden goodness, but also asking for another side of bacon, because everything tasted so damn good.

Afterwards, Gold showed her around the town: the high school was a few blocks from the main street, and it looked surprisingly well kept for a small town school. The last one she'd been to was appallingly run down, and there was so much graffiti that even the teachers stopped bothering to wash it off, for it would just be repainted hours later. But this building was sturdy, its walls made of stone and its grass immaculately cut and green. Emma would start there on September third, almost two full months away, in her junior year. Her seventeenth birthday would happen a month and a half after that, by which time she would hopefully have settled in. Or Mr. Gold would get so tired of her bumming around all summer that she wouldn't even spend junior year here – anything could happen.

Smiling wryly at herself, Emma scuffed the tip of one boot against the wood of the structure she was sitting on, legs curled up to her chest, head tipped back against the side of it. It was almost like a play house for kids, built with turrets like castle, a platform to sit on, and a little slide on the other side of it. It was set right on the beach next to a swing set, and amidst the driftwood and rocks by the shore. The wind was whipping Emma's hair into her face so hard that she wouldn't be surprised if there were welts later. Huffing, she pulled it back underneath her collar for the umpteenth time, folding her arms against the chill of the ocean breeze.

Gold was correct in saying that the distance from his home to the center of town was a five minute walk for Emma. Everything else in town was a ten minute walk from there, fifteen at the max, like the beach. Emma had found all three of the town's schools, a tiny clothes boutique, the docks, and – on the outskirts – a grungy looking pub. The day itself was pleasant enough, though a little chilly, especially nearer to the water.

''I own the pawnshop,'' Mr Gold had said, gesturing up towards the rather small storefront of Mr. Gold: Pawnbroker & Antiquities Dealer as he spoke. ''You'll have to forgive me, but it's a weekday. I must stay open for a few hours, at least.''

Explore the town at her leisure, just be careful, he'd said, not taking no for an answer when he'd slipped her a twenty dollar bill, insisting she buy herself lunch, or dinner, as he was likely to not be home early enough to whip anything together. Emma could count on one hand exactly how many times she'd been handed money without a catch – none whatsoever. She accepted the money without too much complaint, although somewhere in her mind she was still waiting for the 'but...' to come up.

From overhead, a light rain began to trickle down. Shifting in her seat, Emma looked up with grim displeasure at the darkening clouds above the town. Within the minute it took her to leave the castle and ascend up the path to the parking lot above the beach, light drops had turned into a more moderate drizzle.

''Ah, hell,'' she groaned to herself as the drops came down even harder, and by the time she'd cleared the parking lot, she was nearly running in a desperate attempt to save her fast soaking sweatshirt and jeans.

Granny's was the nearest place she could think of to go to, and so she ducked in, trying not to drip too much onto the tiles, and offered a half smile at Ruby.

''It hasn't rained here in a long time,'' Ruby observed, glancing outside with a raised brow. ''Huh. I think someone's crops were starting to go dry, too. Must be our lucky charm, kid.''

Emma snorted, shaking her head with a laugh and sliding herself into a vacant booth facing the door. ''Hot chocolate?'' She requested, sighing and leaning back into the booth, combing her fingers through her damp, wind tangled hair with a pained wince as it jerked against her scalp.

Ruby set her steaming mug down with a smile and Emma almost immediately snatched it up, taking a greedy gulp of the too-hot liquid and relishing as she began to warm again from the dismal outdoors.

People were still watching her, she noted, resisting the urge to roll her eyes – would they never get tired? She had thought that once _nothing_ had happened and she proved to be just a normal kid, they'd lay off. Apparently they were yet to come to that.

Sighing, she sipped more at her cocoa.

 

* * *

 

 

**_Fifteen minutes earlier_ **

''You know, I think it's going to rain.''

David was, to be honest, only half listening to everything Dr. Whale was saying – for the past half hour the man had given up being an actual _doctor_ in favor of trying to buddy up with David, prying at him with questions both innocuous and not, asking who the brunette who had visited him was, winking and nudging him with a 'you _lucky_ dog', and then finally hinting that _maybe_ David should delay his departure another day.

''Yeah, maybe.''

He was finally dressed. Out of hospital gowns for the first time in...well, sixteen years. There was a donation box from which Whale had fetched a slightly worn in pair of jeans, an old hoodie, and a pair of sneakers that were just barely David's size. They'd have to do until he had the chance to shop. For now, he was to rent a room at Granny's – discounted, Whale had said, because he was a special case. David wasn't going to complain, for the only money he had came from a small account that the Mayor had given him access to the previous day. ''It's only a few hundred,'' she had said, shaking her head. ''What I found on you when you appeared that night.''

It was a few hundred that could maybe last him a week if he was careful – after that, he had no idea what he'd do.

''You're sure you want to walk in this?''

Huffing out a small laugh, David lifted the small bag that carried another pair of ill fitting jeans and the remainder of his Hanes shirts. ''Whale, you sound a little concerned.''

Whale was staring outside at the ominous cloud coverage, frowning. ''You have been comatose for sixteen years, David. It does not hurt to play it safe.''

''Well, I'll play it safe _out there_.'' Letting the flimsy bag rest against his leg, he headed for the door. ''I'll see you tomorrow.''

''Two o'clock,'' Whale reminded. ''And don't forget to pace yourself!''

 

It was about as cold outside as it looked from above in the hospital. After pushing the double doors open at the entrance, and taking the steps down to the sidewalk, David stopped walking to stare around himself. The feeling of crisp air against his skin, the smell of rain, the feel of _real clothing_ on his back all felt so foreign, despite the fact that he hadn't even been awake to miss any of it. It felt new, and fresh, and like no matter how many deep breaths he took he'd never get enough of it.

His first stop was going to be Granny's, he had decided earlier that morning. He needed to have a meal, and regroup himself, because if he failed to keep it together he was going to fall apart at the seams. It would be all too easy to do, considering he had virtually no memories, no one to turn to, and no home of his own to hide in when it all got to be too much. But he'd hold strong. Resolving to do just this, David began walking again, towards the middle of town, where Granny's was said to be – unmistakable and ever present.

There would be a little sign on the sidewalk, Whale had said, and sure enough, as David approached the main block, he saw a stand up board with something unintelligible (from this distance, anyway) written on it. He was walking briskly enough to reach it within seconds, where he could decipher ''SOUP OF THE DAY: BUTTERNUT SQUASH'' written in loopy, red handwriting across the board.

Overhead, rain droplets began to dust his shoulders and so David left the sign, went up the walk, and pressed the door open. The bell jingled, and the girl behind the counter glanced up, double taking when she saw him.

''David!'' Her eyes were huge, and he must have looked completely baffled, for she blushed and waved him over to an empty seat. ''Sorry,'' she said, whipping out a pad and flicking a lock of hair behind her ear. ''I'm Ruby. I left you the food yesterday.''

It was then that David happened to notice Ruby wasn't the only one reacting to his presence; there were more than a few people staring over at them interestedly. Huh. Small towns.

''You'll have to forgive us,'' Ruby said with a smirk. ''You're kind of a town legend. Comatose man, and all. Everyone was pretty excited when we heard you woke up.''

''Yeah, I'm getting that.'' Shaking his head slightly – this was almost more overwhelming than he thought it'd be – David smiled up at Ruby. ''It's nice to meet you, Ruby. Can I get a cup of coffee? And....the soup. The squash one?''

''Cup of coffee and a bowl of butternut squash. You got it.'' Scrawling something onto her pad, Ruby beamed at him and twirled away. Her shorts were very short. So was her top. There was another, older woman behind the counter also staring at David, but when Ruby went back, she began to scowl at her and mutter a few things as she passed.

This was a strange town.

The rain was absolutely pouring now, and once David got his coffee, he focused on the small newspaper he had found abandoned on the counter and didn't look up until the door slammed open, the bell jingling loudly.

A girl, dripping wet, had come in, muttering softly to herself with an irritated furrow in her brow as she tried to discreetly shake water from her hair and face. She was just a kid, probably not even sixteen, with long (and damp) blond hair, beaten up tennis shoes, jeans, and a nondescript dark grey sweatshirt. Ruby, bracelets jingling, breezed by David's table with coffee, and called out to the girl as she did so: ''It hasn't rained here in a long time. Must be our lucky charm, kid.''

It was then that David noticed most everyone who had been staring at him was now staring at _her,_ the new girl. She chuckled and shook her head, sliding into a booth near David's own table. ''Hot chocolate?'' She requested, and Ruby nodded with a smile, darting back behind the counter.

The sound of clinking mugs and an ancient milk steamer filled David's ears – some of the most soothing, nonoffensive background noise possible, and yet his head had started to ache a little.

Everyone was still looking at the girl. Ruby left the hot chocolate on the table, and the girl grinned up at her in thanks.

David had barely been in the waking world for hours now, he was wearing jeans that weren't his own, buying lunch on less than ten dollars, and didn't even know where the inn was he was supposed to be sleeping at. But he could swear, on his life, that he had seen this girl before.

Her entire _face_ was just familiar, and as hard as he tried _not_ to stare at her, he spent twenty minutes doing some pretty decent – he thought – spy work, sipping his coffee and poring over his newspaper, watching the girl discreetly. If she knew, she gave no sign, drinking her hot cocoa slowly and gazing around the room as if far away in her thoughts. Her eyes passed over him a few times, and even they were familiar, as if he'd seen them on someone else's face. Was she someone's daughter? He hardly knew anyone here: Whale and Ruby, and the Mayor. They were too young to have someone her age. And she looked nothing like them, really. Blond hair, blue eyes, pale skin. A little wan looking, maybe. Babyfaced still. Nothing like the aforementioned dark haired members of Storybrooke. Somehow, he couldn't picture Mayor Mills behind the _motherly_ type, as kind as she'd been to him since he had woken.

Ruby filled his mug for the fourth time. ''Good to be back?''

Tearing his gaze away from the newspaper -from the girl – David looked up at her, and smiled wistfully. ''I think so.''

 

* * *

 

 

Emma drank her hot chocolate as slowly as she could: that was two dollars out of the crisp twenty, and she now had a ten, a five, and some ones.

They felt heavy and strange in her pocket on her way home – in a good way. The rain had stopped and now it was just foggy and crisp, seagulls screeching in the distance as Emma walked down the silent street to Gold's gently lit manor, wiping her feet on the rug before pushing the door open, almost hesitantly, as though she should knock before entering.

''Emma?''

Fiddling with her hair, Emma poked her head into the living room, offering a smile at Gold, who was sat in an armchair, a notebook and thick tome on his lap, and a steaming mug on the table beside him.

''Hi. How was your day?''

Sighing, Gold shook his head with a little smile. ''Boring, I'm afraid. The most tedious man came into the shop today; insisted I show him every hat I possessed in the store. Needless to say he took quite some time poring over them and then left. The people here can be quite strange.''

''Yeah, I'm getting that,'' Emma replied, sinking into the plush couch and thinking of all the looks she'd received in town that day. ''It's really pretty here, though.''

''Isn't it? Very quaint. Did you have a nice day?''

''Yes. I went to the beach, but it started raining, so I spent most of the time at Granny's - Ruby makes the best hot chocolate.''

''Good. I'm glad you're enjoying it. Oh,'' he said, as though just remembering something, ''did you hear of the man who woke from a coma yesterday?''

Frowning, Emma watched as he unfolded a newspaper and laid it on the coffee table. ''No – a coma here? In Storybrooke?''

''Indeed. Sixteen years, I believe, give or take. They say he's doing well.''

Glancing over the tiny square that served as the story – David Nolan, approximately thirty years of age, released from Storybrooke General after sixteen year long coma. Mayor Mills' official statement forthcoming.''

It clearly lacked substance, containing only the very barest of facts the reporter was able to glean from tight lipped doctors and the man himself, but Emma frowned, her mind going back to the diner.

''Hm. I saw a guy at Granny's today, looked kinda homeless. Wonder if it was him.''

 

* * *

 

If Emma had not been staring intently at the paper, trying to recall any detail she might have missed that day at the diner, she would probably have noticed Gold's slight smirk, and the almost smug way he sipped his tea. ''Dunno, dear. There aren't too many people in this town, it could quite possibly have been. I daresay you'll hear more about him, too – Mayor Mills is quite talkative, and Sydney Glass – that's who wrote this particular, er, piece – likes to listen.''

''Yeah, it'll be interesting to follow.'' Tearing her intent eyes from the paper, Emma stood, grimacing down at her damp jeans. ''I'm gonna go change. It was pretty wet out there earlier.''

''Talk to you later,'' Gold hummed in assent, already taking back the paper to look again at the article himself.

David Nolan, awake at last. Gold wondered if he'd seen Emma at the diner. Was Charming going to be dense, or was he too sensing something?

It was happening very soon – Gold had expected at least _some_ work in setting these people up to notice each other, but it seemed that the young Swan was determined, however unconsciously, to meet her destiny. Good. Gold liked that – drive, spunk, and inherent kindness were already evident in the girl, and despite his own reservations against getting _too_ personal with this child, he found himself growing fond of her already.

His leg was twinging. Damn rain. Sighing, he stood and finished his cooling mug of tea – another might help. So would the modern magic of painkillers.

 

 


	4. now I'm feeling it even more

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David and Mary Margaret are in love even when they aren't in love, if that makes sense. Emma muses. Gold is a little paranoid. Literally no one is going to be able to pretend Storybrooke is an average town for much longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO, I know. We aren't talking about it. I'm here now. I also revamped the formatting of this story so there's 3 longer chapters - now 4 - instead of a bunch of little ones. This is not gonna be the 20 + chapter epic I was hoping for - expect longer chapters with meatier plot and more word counts, plus more side stories in this verse rather than a novel length epic right now.
> 
> Also, Jefferson's coming into this soon. Because I rewatched some S1 and not only do I love Sebastian Stan but I also really love the idea of baby!Emma and the slightly unhinged Mad Hatter having this weird bromance, especially as Emma proceeds to see just what's up with everything in this town and J already knows about it.

 

David's entire afternoon was spent in a haze after the diner.

Partially because of the migraine – going back to the hospital was _probably_ a very good idea. A splitting headache in a very recently awakened coma patient couldn't be a great sign. But David would rather sit alone in his dim, old fashioned inn room than the brightly lit and sterile hospital any day. The inn was old, and deceptively roomy. From the outside it merely looked like a house, but judging by the vast amount of keys hanging on the wall behind the front desk, there were more than a few bedrooms to spare.

''Turndown's at eight,'' Granny had barked at him, handing him a key and a pen. ''Sign here. No room service but you know about the diner. We open at five, close at nine.''

''Thanks,'' he had said, offering what he hoped was a friendly smile through the splitting, almost transcendental pain in his head. The key was for the second floor room, one with a window overlooking the wooded backyard. David locked himself in, drew the curtains against the four o'clock light, and flopped face first onto the bed, shutting his eyes.

That had been about an hour ago. Napping shouldn't have come so easily to someone who'd been half dead for sixteen years, but when he woke, he felt considerably refreshed, the pain reduced to a dull, manageable ache, and his stomach growling for dinner. Huh. So much for the recovery period Whale had spoken about (''Broths, Mr. Nolan, and _tea'')_ – he felt like he could eat a horse.

Heaving himself from the bed, David pulled the curtains back open to peek outside. It was just barely light in the sky, the cloudcover from earlier streaking pink and purple on the horizon. It was probably the prettiest thing David had seen after waking, and he found himself smiling before picking his jacket up off the solo chair in the room, and pocketing his keys. Granny's Diner was sounding pretty good, and the lure of meeting a few more members of the odd little town – maybe even the woman from the hospital, or the girl at the diner who'd seemed so familiar – brightened his mood considerably.

 

* * *

 

 

Although cooking made Mary Margaret happy, and was a good outlet for any feeling she was having at any given time, there were just _those days_ when she really couldn't be bothered to cook for herself, and found that bundling up in a corner at Grannys with the daily soup and a club sandwich was the best way to go. This was one of those days. Her dress and boots had been swapped for her favorite jeans, chunky sweater, and worn in flats during a quick stop off at her apartment to dump the day's homework and pick up a few books to read during dinner, and Ruby had just left a steaming mug of her hot cocoa on the table. Mary Margaret sipped at it happily, inhaling the light scent of cinnamon that filled the air, and flicking her finger through some of the whip that topped the drink.

The evening was slow, languid, the rainstorm from earlier apparently having driven the town to their own residences for the night. The indistinct radio played from tinny speakers in the corners of the room, and the sunset left warm streaks of color throughout the sky. Mary Margaret felt at peace, warm and comfortable, until the bell on the door jingled, letting in a small stream of people into the formerly quiet diner.

Coma patient David Nolan was one, of course.

He didn't see her. He looked a little pale still, a little drawn, but he was fully dressed and had a genuine smile for Ruby as she pointed towards a small booth not too far from where Mary Margaret was.

She didn't expect him to remember her. How could she? But, in the grand tradition of crushes – god, that sounded childish – her heart sank when he walked right past her and settled at his own table. It was irrational, and if Mary Margaret were truly that invested, she'd stand right up and go over to flirt with him. But she'd never been much of a starter – flirting wise, anyway. It was all such a mixture of thin lines and careful boundaries: what the hell made flirting, _flirting_ , rather than just talking.

Sighing, she finished the dregs of her cooling cocoa. Ruby brought the clam chowder and club sandwich over to her table, swept her mug up with her. Mary Margaret drew her book out again and attempted to immerse herself into it.

''Hey.''

She wished she could say she hadn't jolted a little. Not only at being interrupted, but at the fact that that was _so not_ Ruby's voice coming from above her, and in fact it was David Nolan's. He was smiling down at her, hands stuffed a little awkwardly in his jacket pockets, as if he didn't really know what to do with them otherwise.

''Hi,'' she said dumbly back, blinking once, twice, and then smiling. ''How are you? Feeling good?''

His small smile broke into a wide grin, and _dear god_ he was staring into her eyes. She felt a little sick in the best way.

''Very. Slept for most of the afternoon, actually. Guess I couldn't get enough of it.'' He snorted a little, shaking his head. ''Funnily enough, I feel more awake for it.''

''You look good.'' Smooth. ''I mean – you look better. Less pale.'' This was not getting better the more she said. Damn her fair coloring; she could feel a flush rising to her cheeks.

But he was still smiling, still staring down at her and not looking away _at all_ which could have been creepy, but his eyes were beautiful and Mary Margaret's night had just been made by this interaction so far.

''You want to join me?'' She waved at the open spot on the other side of the table.

''Really? I mean, if you really want me to – I didn't mean to cut in - ''

''Not at all,'' she cut off.

He sat with no more protestation.

Ruby brought their food out with a knowing smirk aimed at Mary Margaret, having smoothly redirected David's fish n' chips and ginger ale over to accommodate their new seating arrangement. She scooted the plates onto the table and straightened, arching one perfectly black eyebrow as her eyes flitted between the couple before she clicked away. At least she hadn't said anything. David didn't seem to notice anything, anyway.

He ate fast – he was trying to be slower, she could tell, but he looked starving and so they spent most of ten minutes eating heartily, sometimes meeting each others eyes from across the table, until Mary Margaret finished the last of the tomato on her club and David his last chunk of fish.

''Want some chips?'' He pushed the basket towards her. ''I'm stuffed.''

''Oh, no, I don't want to take - ''

''Don't worry about it. Really. We'll split them.''

He divided the small pile in half, and carefully squirted a tiny patch of ketchup on one side of the paper. ''Sorry,'' he said with a lopsided little smile, ''I can't eat 'em without it. Not that I've really _tried,_ you know, other than today.'' His smile turned a little sad.

''Do you remember?''

His brow furrowed a little and Mary Margaret rushed to clarify. ''I mean – before. The coma. Sixteen years ago.''

Dipping the last fry into his ketchup, David's eyes broke away from hers for what was probably the longest during their entire dinner – they drifted to somewhere over her shoulder, almost glazing over, distance filling them. ''No,'' he said finally, heaving a deep sigh, and blinking rapidly as if to clear his vision. ''Honestly, I don't. It's all a blur – like, I guess I know I went to college. U of Maine, I think. But...it's not like I have _anything_ . I don't have a college sweatshirt. I don't remember any of my friends, I don't even have _shoes_ that are mine.'' He sighed again, running hands through his hair, looking deeply troubled. ''I've got nothing, Mary Margaret.''

As he broke off, one of his hands came to rest on the tabletop, and Mary Margaret didn't think twice about placing her own over it.

''You don't have _nothing,_ '' she said quietly, waiting briefly until he glanced up from the tabletop to look at her. ''You have _me_. I'm your friend, David Nolan. I'll help you.''

It was a miracle Ruby hadn't come back to check on them, for their entire conversation was getting insanely heavy for a dinner over soup, in a room with twenty other people.

''Thank you.'' He turned his palm over under her smaller hand, wrapping them both together and squeezing softly. ''I could use that.''

 

* * *

 

 

This was all going a hell of a lot faster than Gold had ever anticipated.

Hopefully that was a good thing. Although few in the town liked acknowledging his presence, much less assisting him, he'd managed to rope a measly little teenager into doing some light spy work for him – the boy was shifty eyed, scuffing his feet against the sidewalk Gold had caught him on, and finally straightening at the mention of a crisp pair of twenties Gold discreetly drew from his wallet.

Kids were too easy.

Anyway, the boy had reported back that he had, in fact, not only seen David Nolan having dinner at Granny's, but seen him having dinner over soup with 'that schoolteacher.'

''She's the kind of hot one,'' he'd blurted, turning beet red a second later. ''Er, sorry, Mr. Gold. Sir. The elementary school lady. Pale...sweater.''

He'd trailed off a little at the look Gold was giving him.

So, feeling more than a little smug, Gold had sent the little runt on his way, forty dollars richer, and had let himself stew in this new knowledge – Prince Charming and Snow White had already found each other, and the girl had barely been in town three days. He had to wonder _why_ things were falling into place so easily, but he supposed that was just the curse – it couldn't stay this way _forever_ , not when Emma Swan existed, and maybe it was just picking up on the sheer bullheadedness the girl sometimes exuded, and tripping over itself to break _for_ her before she began to actively smash it.

Or maybe the Evil Queen was trying to manipulate her irritating way into his head and plans.

Gold could be a paranoid man at the best of times, and it was with this unsettling thought that he ate dinner with Emma – a roast he'd managed not to scald or char in any way -, trying in vain to keep conversation flowing despite his growing desperation to go and have it out with Regina right then.

Patience was necessary, and Regina could wait until closer to eight o'clock that evening, after the girl was fed and the roast put away – perhaps now was a good time for him to begin brainstorming ways to get Swan closer to her parents without looking odd.

''So, what's there to do around here?''

This. This is what he meant by things being a little _too easy_ sometimes.

''Pardon?''

Emma swallowed another mouthful of chicken and gravy. ''I mean – are there, like, sports? A library? That stuff. I liked wandering around but it's going to be a few months till school starts, so...'' she shrugged, taking another bite of her food.

Hm. The schools had a bit of a library – well, a collection of texts, he supposed. It was something he knew vaguely, and like a lot of things he knew about this town and world it had never really been elaborated on. Now was as good a time as any.

''You could see if Granny needs help at the diner or the inn,'' he suggested, ''or see if one of the teachers at the school lets you into the library early. And you may want to wander just a bit more, dearie. There are quite a few lovely places that are a bit out of the way.'' He thought of the Hatter's manor, and grimaced a little. ''Just stay close to town. Avoid the outlier's houses and such. And you know you're welcome to anything I have to read here,'' he added, as an afterthought. His books on magic and portals and his dusty tomes from the enchanted forest were safely in his shop. Here, he had classics and books about nature. Hardly anything too fascinating, but perhaps she'd find them bearable.

''Okay,'' Emma said slowly, looking as though she were thinking hard about something. ''Thanks. I'll definitely do...probably all of that.''

''Good.'' He polished off his last bite of roast and scooted his chair away. ''I've a business meeting shortly, I'm afraid. Will you be okay on your own?''

''Of course,'' the girl murmured, licking a bit of gravy from her fork. He thought he saw a hint of sadness across her face, but it was gone now if it had ever been there. ''Do you care if I wander around a little now?''

It was dark, but it wasn't raining. He doubted anyone here would seriously try to hurt the girl. He also doubted she was unfamiliar with keeping herself safe in the event of chaos.

''Just be very careful,'' he cautioned. ''Dress warm. Bring a light.''

'''Kay.'' Standing herself, she washed her plate, fork, and cup carefully before placing them in the drying rack. ''Good luck with your meeting.''

''Thank you, dear. Stay safe.''

''I will!'' She was already halfway up the stairs, her little feet padding on the carpeting as she went, likely in search of shoes and a coat, and – hopefully – the light he'd mentioned. He had not doubt she'd have a penchant for trouble – how could she not, given her parentage and own personality? He could only hope she'd not get herself into anything _too_ awful.

Ignoring the niggling feeling of worry that poked his brain, Gold shrugged his own coat on, followed by his darkest scarf, and snatched up his car keys. Regina was rarely intimidated by him – or anyone, for that matter – but looking imposing never hurt anything. Or, not him, at least.

 

* * *

 

 

There was something weird about the way Gold _didn't_ try to police everything she did. Or the way that he managed to not really care and yet not be a pot bellied drunk. Hey – Emma had only really been exposed to a certain crowd of people her entire life. Either they cared _too much_ , or they sat in front of the cable, drinking and watching TV, and she could have gotten pregnant or murdered and they'd probably barely look up.

Gold was...not either of those. And that was strange.

Emma didn't always do well with strange, however easily adaptable she liked to think of herself as being.

Tucking her hands into the pockets of her windbreaker she set off at a brisk walk. A business meeting at seven thirty at night? He _was_ a pawnshop owner. Maybe he just got weird clientele.

And it was totally not any of her business but as always curiosity reared itself in Emma at any opportunity. Business meeting at eight. More wandering. Avoid the manor. Maybe there was a really well hidden club that didn't card and wasn't horrible. Not that Emma wanted to go out dancing – what, was she going to bring someone home to her teenaged bedroom? Hah. Gross.

She had yet to see another teenager in the entire town, though, in all her two days of being there. Usually small towns had _lots_ of teenagers; all roaming the streets after dark or crowded the junk food aisles at grocery stores, or at least working the fast food counters. There weren't any of those around here either, and Emma could really have used a nice McFlurry after all the pot roast she'd inhaled at dinner. Gold didn't strike her as a dessert kind of man and Emma was definitely an ice cream and cookies kind of girl. Maybe there was an ice cream parlor. These people _had_ to eat at places other than Granny's.

As she walked, it spat a little rain out, which stopped maybe five minutes after Emma glared up at the sky in some kind of powerless warning. Don't rain on me tonight, damn it. The last thing she wanted was to drag her sorry butt into granny's like a wet puppy again, however good the hot chocolate was. There was more to this town that just that, she knew it in her bones.

If people saw the waify looking teenager tromping about in the dark, no one stopped her. In fact, there was very little noise at all. She inevitably passed Granny's, where the stereo from inside could be heard, but there were no party sounds, no loud club or car stereo music, _nothing_. ''Good lord, I'm actually in a retirement community.''

 

* * *

 

 

Like someone who'd just been pumped full of life again, David had enough energy to the point where he was actually considering taking up exercising _right then_ , in his jeans and jacket, because he was bursting and maybe jogging it off was what it was going to take to get him together again.

''Thank you for the company,'' Mary Margaret had smiled shyly after they paid their bills and were standing under the trellis outside Granny's. ''I really liked it. You. Talking to you, I mean.''

She had been blushing again – it was _incredibly_ pretty.

''I liked it too. If we're being honest -''

'' - haven't we been all night?''

''- I feel the best I've felt since I first opened my eyes.''

It was kind of a line. David knew this. It served to deepen her blush and cause butterflies to start bombarding David's stomach lining.

''Can I see you again?''

He blurted it out a little, but he felt like a man drowning. No memories, no real life, but he _knew_ that if he saw this face everyday for the rest of his life he'd be able to keep his mind from falling apart; he could fill the space with new memories and sensations, like her adorable laugh or more about how she liked teaching or the way she looked in the morning.

Or other things. Lots of other things that David wasn't going to push now because he'd known her for five minutes and he _was_ some kind of a gentleman – if he knew nothing about himself, he knew that.

''Do you want to?''

''Yes,'' he answered without a flicker of hesitation. A beat passed. ''If you want,'' he added hastily, his heart suddenly dropping at the idea that _maybe_ he was the crazy stalker guy of everyone's nightmares, and she was going to walk away and never speak to him again.

''I _really_ want,'' she said, eyes widening a little. ''Please. I just...''

She shook her head a little. ''I want to talk to you all the time.''

''Yeah,'' David said, nodding along. ''Walk me home?''

She snickered. ''Protect you from any unwanted charmers?''

''Hey, I wouldn't doubt it,'' David said, shaking his head as they started to walk. ''I saw how fired up you got over Gone with the Wind earlier. And I’ve never even _read_ it. I was a little nervous, I swear it.''

She was laughing, and they continued bantering all the way up the street towards the quiet inn, where, outside of the front doorway, he kissed her.

Her cheek, but her skin was warm and soft and the closer he leaned into her the stronger she smelled of warm cinnamon and some soft, pretty soapy smell. Not cloying. Just really damn lovely.

''Goodnight,'' he'd breathed, a little dazed, and she had gazed back up at him, looking something similar to how he felt.

''See you soon.''

And that was where they'd parted. Nothing more than a peck on the cheek and he was already worked up like crazy – he had the urge to laugh loudly, or jump up and down, or recount the night in _excruciating_ detail to some listener who would probably end up punching him in the face for a story that lasted almost as long as his and Mary Margaret date-type dinner had.

But that was how he found himself wandering the streets, a good thirty minutes after the doorstep kiss, hands in his pockets against the chilly air, going in a direction he thought was the beach, judging by the rushing sound that was growing louder as he got closer.

No one else was around – this was truly a quiet little community – and he was close to just breaking into a jog towards the ocean shore when he saw her.

It was the girl from earlier, he realized after a second. She was walking on the other side of the street, blond hair tucked into her jacket, going just about the same pace as he was, a contemplative expression on her face. David had a moment's impulse to duck into the shadows so as not to make her nervous, but then realized that the sight of a grown man skulking in the shadows would probably scare her more than a passing stranger on an empty street.

Just like earlier, he felt his brain working to place her face, trying so hard and yet coming up with absolutely nothing. It was scrambling for images and comparisons that simply weren't there, and the last thing David wanted was his headache back. He drew his eyes away from her and continued on his way, taking in a lungful of salty air and letting his thoughts wander.

''Hey!''

It was a loud shout across the empty street and it made his spine tighten as he whipped back around to face the only other person he knew was there.

Sure enough, she was still there, only now, she wasn't alone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooooh. I haven't decided if I want to put a serious villain there or just an everyday mugger (in storybrooke? idk) but these two need some kind of meet cute and I figured David acting on his - albeit unknown - paternal instincts while Emma gets to punch something is as good a one as any. If you've got any idea what should be trying to harm the kid, let me know.


	5. there's a wild wind blowin'

 

Gold was exceedingly happy with himself.

Regina knew this because of a two factors – one, being that he was actually a smug, spiteful little imp and of _course_ he'd be getting a kick out of watching Regina struggle to control her own kingdom. Of course.

Another was the fact that he was standing in front of her table at Granny's empty diner, smirking at her, cane gripped in both hands in front of him.

''It's eight o'clock at night,'' Regina said coldly, placing her newspaper down on the tabletop. ''I was just about to have my evening tea.''

''Sorry to interrupt, dearie. Might I join you?''

''Why do I get the feeling you will anyway?''

He was already sitting, of course. Regina sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers. This week was just...

''Long day?''

''Hm,'' was all she said in response.

''Lovely weather we've been having,'' he plowed on, and Regina looked up to see him steeple his fingers, staring outside at the darkness. ''That grey spell seemed like it lasted  _years_ , didn't it?''

He was messing with her. Gold did this. Messed with her head and insinuated that he was a hundred percent aware of what was happening even though he could not possibly be – Regina was paranoid and even if he remembered  _anything_ , he had no power. He was as useless as the rest of the town.

Comforted by this thought, Regina finished talking herself down from the edge of moderate panic and fixed a small smile on her face. ''Gold. Please. I'm getting my bill in a moment. Is this a social visit? How is the shop doing?''

''Quite well, thank you.'' Regina idly sipped at her nearly cold mug of tea, and just as she has a mouthful, Gold said, carefully, ''And Miss Swan has been settling in wonderfully as well.''

Regina didn't choke on her tea. She didn't, because she knew that if she did, the devious look in Gold's eye would just stretch to the rest of his currently placid face, and there was no reason for that right now.

''Miss Swan?'' She inquired politely, after swallowing slowly and placing the mug near the edge of the table. ''Doesn't ring a bell.''

''It wouldn't. She's new. Just a slip of a thing, had a hard time of it in the system.  _You_ know how large my home is, Madame Mayor. The least I could do was open it to another in need.''

Words were coming from Gold's mouth but Regina was slowly losing sight of anything but the blood pounding in her ears.  _Just a slip of a thing. System. Large home._

''Well, I do hope the town welcomes her as you have, Mr. Gold,'' she finally settled on, offering a tight smile across the table. ''You'll have to show her to my offices sometime.''

''Won't I just.''

Standing abruptly, Regina straightened her blazer quickly. ''Wonderful chatting. Good luck with your charge.'' She turned her back on him and walked briskly towards the door – he was  _not_ getting the last word in, whatever witty quip or ridiculously vague statement he had on the tip of his tongue.

For once, she heard no remark calling after her, and she didn't look back as she slammed the diner door a little harder than was appropriate, storming out into the cold air with purpose. An outsider? After all these years? She supposed nothing was impossible, or foolproof (despite how much the  _godforsaken spell_ was supposed to be) – all the same, Regina felt deep anger boiling in her veins and she sped up the pace towards her destination. Magic may not work in this world, but some things still did – she was going to give this new  _Miss Swan_ the terror of her short life.

 

* * *

 

 

''Hey!''

David wasn't sure what he was expecting to see. Best case scenario was the girl was shouting at a friend and he'd look over to see her walking safely along, and then he'd be on his way.

Worst was that he would look over and see her being yanked backwards by the hood of her brown jacket by a dark figure with no discernible features. There was a corner where the street turned towards the even less lit side street that David knew lead towards the thick forest, and the girl's stumbling, struggling steps were leading her straight backwards, away from the light.

It took him less than a second to move after he realized what was happening – his tired, empty mind cataloging the situation at lightening speed and then propelling his legs forward across the street and towards the struggling figures.

''Hheee - '' the girl choked, letting out little puffs of air as she fought for air against the chokehold her own jacket now had on her. David was there in seconds, reaching out for the figure and grabbing blindly, trying to break the hold the figure had on the jacket and pull the girl forward without choking her more.

''Let her go - ''

The last thing he'd expected was for the figure to drop their grip on the jacket's fabric as if it were red hot, bolting away into the night with barely more than a rustle – David blinked, and they were gone. The girl was crumpling a little, scrabbling at her neck to find her zipper and yank it down, shoving her jacket halfway off and staggering a few feet to lean up against the nearby lamppost, breathing coming in loud, hitching gasps.

''Are you okay?'' Was the first thing out of his mouth as he leaned down towards her, reaching out as if to pat her down for injuries but stopping halfway, blinking slowly and straightening up again.

Breaking into a series of loud, dry coughs, she nodded, still inhaling deeply. ''I- I don't understand what the  _hell_ \- ''

Her tone was irate, and the more deeply she was able to breath the more her expression turned from shell shocked to dark anger.

''Who even just  _jumps_ someone like that,'' she continued, rubbing her neck, which David could see had a bright red mark all across it, ''this is supposed to be a  _quiet_ community.''

And then he was snorting without meaning to, trying to turn his laughs – it couldn't be appropriate to bust up in a situation like this,  _he_ was supposed to be the adult here, right? - into throat clearings. 

''I wouldn't know, but that's what they told me, too.''

Tipping her head back against the lamppost, the girl shut her eyes, and David could see her forcibly slowing her own breathing. ''Well, we both got screwed on that then, I guess.''

She popped an eye open. ''Thanks. By the way. I'm glad someone was walking by, that could have been....''

''Ugly,'' David supplied, scuffing a foot against the pavement. ''No problem. Glad you're okay.''

''Thanks.'' Pushing herself away from her support post, the girl cocked her head at him, brow creasing. ''Hey, are you the coma guy?''

''Word gets around quickly.''

''I think you're the newspaper celebrity. You and some local pigeons. This place can't possibly get much worth reporting so you had front page.''

''What an honor,'' he said dryly. ''Yeah, I'm him. David Nolan.''

''Emma Swan.''

''Are you the new girl, then?''

Her eyebrows raised, and she laughed a little. ''Local outcasts unite! I think I got here the night before you, er, woke up. So if they aren't creeping on you they're staring at me as I walk past.'' She rolled her eyes. ''I can't wait till it wears off.''

''Tell me about it.''

Letting out a breath of air, Emma tentatively zipped her jacket back up halfway. David saw her hands were just a little shaky.

''How far are you from...where you live?''

''That way,'' Emma pointed over his shoulder, ''about a mile. Not far. It's that mansion on the outside of town, Mr. Gold's? I guess he's infamous. But you wouldn't know much more than me about that...'' She trailed off, wincing, ''Sorry. I don't mean to sound like a jerk.''

''Not at all. You're right – it's nice to finally meet someone on the same page here.'' He smiled warmly at her, hoping to dispel the small expression of embarrassed distress that her features held. ''Walk you back?''

She hesitated a moment. ''I...think I'll be fine. But thank you. And for being here and not somewhere else. It could have gotten bad.''

''I know,'' he said softly, glancing over her shoulder briefly as if expecting to see the strange figure peeking from behind a corner. ''Are you sure?''

''Yeah, I'll make it. It's lighter that way anyway.'' She stepped around him, tucking her hands back into her pockets. ''See you around, David.''

''Be safe, Emma.''

He slowly started back across the street, keeping a discreet eye on Emma's retreating back until she disappeared from sight – he heard nothing out of the ordinary from then on, and even when he ventured towards the darker side street, nothing was to be found.

Weird town – borderline creepy town. Two hundred odd residents and someone among them was going around accosting lone figures. Even David, at a good deal taller and heavier than tiny Emma, was feeling the slightest of chills prickle the back of his neck as he continued to wander alone in the silence.

 

* * *

 

 

Emma's legs did not stop shaking until she hit the foyer of Gold's house. Her hands fumbled the key to let herself in – kept under the plant, she had been informed yesterday morning – and she didn't relax until the place was locked and she was upstairs in the shower with a closed bathroom and bedroom door keeping the outside world at bay.

Letting out a deep sigh, she slumped against the shower wall, letting the steaming water flush her skin red and calm her woozy, shuddering limbs.

She wasn't exactly a stranger to the concept of the villain in a dark alley – she supposed it was stupidity on her part that caused her to believe Storybrooke was any safer than any other town in the country. She'd let herself slip to the mentality of  _everyone_ _knowing everyone else_ that she had let her guard down, and it could have gotten her raped, or killed, or...whatever.

It was a stroke of luck, coma guy being where he was when he was. Emma found it somewhat amusing that she wasn't alone in her nighttime wandering habit – and it would become a habit; it was quiet and Emma enjoyed quiet – and not only was she not alone in it but it was the only other speculated about person in the town who was doing the same.

She could start spouting crap about kindred spirits and lost souls, but even Emma didn't buy into that.

Chuckling a little at her own train of thought she proceeded to wash her hair and luxuriate for a while longer before shutting the water off when she grew uncomfortably warm. She felt exhausted, suddenly, as if she'd been awake for 20 hours instead of pushing 14. Maybe it was the adrenaline she'd never really gotten to use – she was  _totally_ pumped for a fight when David Nolan had bounced up out of nowhere and started shoving her attacker around. Emma was also no stranger to street fights; there were nastier areas of neighborhoods she'd lived in that were better left unspoken about, needless to say. 

There were no sounds from the floor below and so Emma turned the overhead off, and settled herself back into her pillows with the small stack of books she'd brought with her just two short days ago. It seemed like years; time was strange here. The days seemed long and packed full, even if nothing much had even really happened.

Shaking her head, Emma cracked the spine of one of the heavier books, and shoved her toes beneath the blankets.

 

* * *

 

 

''What do you  _mean_ Prince Charming  _stopped_ you?!''

This wasn't shaping up to be a great night.

In response to Gold's infuriating antagonizing, Regina had worked herself into...well, she wasn't going to say a  _state_ because she was  _justified_ in feeling attacked after his chipping away at her that evening, and she was even more justified in sending something out to neutralize the problem. Gold was lucky she wasn't neutralizing  _him_ .

She still had yet to even see this Swan Girl – Regina wasn't a monster, not by any means, and it wasn't as if she were going to have Sydney Glass kill a teenager. Not only because it was  _Sydney_ and she'd never send him to do  _anything_ like that, control over him or not he'd ruin any form of a plan and probably end up in tears on the ground. No, she'd merely told him to rough her up a bit. Drag her into the forest, knock her on the ground, give her a scare. Drive her off whatever scent she was on that was causing the entire town to start moving again. There was no reason to get too comfortable in the town, not when she was clearly the cause of the place's recent disturbances.

''I – I just - '' Sydney floundered, raising his hands in a large shrug. ''He came out of  _nowhere_ , Madame Mayor. I grabbed her hood and then suddenly he's screaming in my face and it was only a matter of time before he grabbed my mask and - ''

''Save it,'' Regina sighed wearily. ''Go home, Sydney. And leave David Nolan off the front page tomorrow,'' she added as an afterthought.

''Goodnight, Madame Mayor.''

Sydney showed himself out and Regina was left alone in her home office, rubbing her temples and trying  _very_ hard not to scream. 

Clearly she had underestimated Prince Charming's capacity for paternal behavior. Pity. She had hoped for David Nolan to have a bit less of a backbone – like Snow had mellowed into something far less contrary in this world – but she supposed she had to allow for  _some_ contingencies _._

Contingency number one: David Nolan was awake. Number two, The weather was changing. Number three, The clock chimed out the hour.

She wasn't sure her number four counted, because Gold had always had an air of mysterious 'I know  _exactly_ what you're up to' about him, even when he stared at her blankly and claimed he had no idea what kind of tangent she was going off on, so that was really nothing new.

However many there were, things were changing, and too quickly for Regina's liking. She recalled having seen headlights flitting through town just a few nights ago, and realized she hadn't imagined them at all – the Swan Girl had come to town, out of nowhere, and suddenly things were  _shifting_ .

_How_ in the hell Gold had managed to bring in an outsider was beyond her – especially without her knowing. Nothing was supposed to have gotten through;  _nothing_ , and yet, here they were.

Standing abruptly, Regina toed off her pumps, and leaned down to scoop the heels into two fingers. Her feet shuffled along the sleek tile in the foyer and then up the carpeted stairs towards her large bedroom. The fluffy bed looked especially inviting at that moment.

She was just going to wait it out. Not for  _too_ long, of course – if things got messy, she'd have to intervene. Again. But there was no harm in simply watching to see where things went, surely? If she worked quickly, perhaps she could even get Miss Swan back on a bus to somewhere farther down the east coast within a week. 

It was with these thoughts that Regina retired to bed, laying awake far past two in the morning mulling over everything before she dropped into an uneasy, restless slumber.

 

* * *

 

 

After waking the following morning around eight, the first thing in Emma's mind was that she was  _not,_ in fact, going to share the details of her night with Mr. Gold.

She felt a  _tad_ bit guilty; just barely, because he was nice to her and he'd probably care if something was going around accosting people in his town. But she was fine, there were no marks, and the problem had been dealt with as best it could be – or, rather, scared off by six feet and change of scruffy coma guy.

Today was the day she was going to make good on her vague notion to get books from the school's library circuit, as Gold had suggested. She was going to ask him who to ask and then go nag them about getting a library card or pass or whatever so she could have something to do before September came and she was either enrolled at Storybrooke High or – her stomach twisted at this – back in a group home somewhere in Boston.

A lot could happen in a few months. Emma of all people knew this well. And it was with this experience that she trained herself never to think too far into the future – anything that mattered deeply was here and now.

And among things that mattered deeply was the concept of breakfast. Emma let herself doze off for a little while longer, before finally dragging herself up at eight forty and pulling on clean clothes.

Downstairs was silent; the kettle on the stove was still warm and there was a note on the counter:

_Emma -_

_Will be at the shop most of today. Here's money for breakfast and lunch._

And then, in different ink, as if an afterthought:

_Mary Margaret Blanchard is the only schoolteacher I know fairly personally. I do not have means to contact her but Ruby at the diner does, I believe, do. She'll help you find anything you'd like to read, should you want to explore a library._

There was no sign off, but Emma smiled a little as she carefully folded the note and placed it in her jeans pocket, along with the generous thirty dollars that had been on top of it.

Mary Margaret Blanchard – not a difficult name to remember. Certainly a mouthful. Emma's mind conjured images of a little old lady, puttering around a silent, nearly empty school library, offering kindly smiles to patrons and sporting floral dresses or old lady shoes. Chuckling, she flipped off the kitchen light and pulled her jacket on as she turned the doorknob lock over and let herself out into the cool morning air. French toast breakfast, a little digging from Ruby, maybe she'd even run into another teenager today, something which had yet to happen and Emma would be lying if she said she was above, or uninterested in, hitting on cute boys.

It was with these uplifting thoughts in mind that she bounced down the steps and over the damp gravel, smiling softly to herself as she took lungfuls of fresh morning air, spring in her step and hands in her pockets.

 

''Mary Margaret? Sure, I know her! She's my best friend.''

Ruby was pouring out three cups of tea for a group of old ladies seated at a corner booth, not pausing even through the steady stream of conversation Emma was providing. ''She lives a few blocks away, one of the quiet apartment buildings. Oh, Emma, she would _love_ you. She's the one who takes cinnamon on her hot chocolate – the only two people I know who do that, I swear...''

Her sentence trailed off as she loaded the mugs onto a tray and strode over to the table, depositing them and grabbing wads of discarded cookie wrappers and napkins off of tables she passed on her loop back to the counter. ''Anyway, I'm sure she'd be happy to meet you. She's super into books. She's a schoolteacher but she loves volunteering at the library – that and the hospital she's, er, pretty into.'' A small smirk was crossing her lips as she spoke, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. ''Listen, it's, what, ten? She's an early bird. She's probably not at the school today, but she might come in for lunch or something. I'd say wait for her but it might be a while. I know the school library opens at eleven till two, if you're up for exploring, head over there, or try the hospital.''

''I am up for exploring,'' Emma said, downing the last of her mug of cocoa. ''High school building, right?''

''Get to know and love your future, kid. I don't remember a lot about SB High, only that I didn't love it. I'm sure you'll find things you like, though. If Mary Margaret stops in I'll tell her she's wanted.''

''Thanks, Ruby.''

As the morning grew later, the weather grew warmer until finally Emma ditched her jacket, letting a pleasant breeze hit her bare arms and wishing she owned a pair of shorts or sandals or _something_ , it was summer, after all, it was only bound to get hotter. She was going to have to go shopping at some point – wherever people went shopping here, anyway.

 


End file.
